


Hilary Term 1920

by Small_Hobbit



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 15:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20194192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: Starting a new decade could be a time of new hope, but for some there's a lot of the past still present.





	Hilary Term 1920

**Author's Note:**

> Written for DW/LJs WhatIf AU "Decade-Specific AU"
> 
> Warning for reactions to events of WWI.

Early in 1920 Bilbo Baggins returned to Oxford for the Hilary term. He was amongst the last to arrive in the dining hall and slid into one of the few remaining spaces. He nodded to his fellow students and waited while the meal began.

Conversation started around him and feeling he ought to play his part he turned to the man sitting next to him. “How was your Christmas?” he asked.

“Quiet,” the man replied.

“Oh! I’m sorry.” Which, Bilbo felt, was a stupid thing to say. His own Christmas had been quiet, but then they always were. His mother had dragged him in to help with a couple of parties which had been held for children who had either lost their father in the war, or where the father’s disability meant there would be little with which to have their own celebration.

The noise from one of the other tables increased, and Bilbo used the opportunity as an excuse for not trying to continue the conversation.

Suddenly the man stood up. He glared at the other table, swung round and left the room. The student opposite him, Dwalin, went to stand too, but Balin, who was sitting next to him - Bilbo remembered they were brothers - put a restraining hand on his arm.

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” Bilbo said.

“It wasn’t you,” Balin said. “He’s been unwell and hasn’t properly recovered.”

“He shouldn’t have come back,” Dwalin said.

“He didn’t want to stay home. He’s determined to fight it.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Bilbo asked.

“You weren’t in the war, were you?” Dwalin said.

“No, I was too young to sign up.”

“Then you won’t understand.”

“My mother ran a recuperation home for officers during the war. I spent a lot of time talking with them, so I probably understand more than you expect.”

Dwalin gave him an appraising look. “Come to my rooms after dinner and we’ll talk some more.”

“I need to unpack, but I’ll join you after that if I may.”

Dwalin nodded.

***

Bilbo methodically unpacked and then set off for Dwalin’s room. It had begun to rain, so he took an umbrella with him. He could hear shouts and music coming from some of the staircases he walked past, but the staircase at the end, where Dwalin’s rooms were, was quiet. He headed up the stairs and knocked on the door.

“Come in!” a voice called.

Bilbo entered. Dwalin and Balin were in armchairs on either side of the fire, while the third man was sitting on a hard chair looking out at the rain. There was a table beside him and Bilbo walked across the room and placed a bread roll on it.

“Hello,” Balin said. “Pull up a chair.”

“Whisky?” Dwalin asked.

“No thank you,” Bilbo replied.

“There’s port as well, if you’d prefer,” Balin added.

“A small glass then.”

Dwalin handed Bilbo the glass of port and then said, “Are you going to join us, Thorin?”

There was no reply and Dwalin shrugged, before saying to Bilbo, “Why aren’t you celebrating the start of the new decade with your peers?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bilbo replied. “I can see the attraction. A new decade, new hopes, new plans. That makes sense. I’m just not so sure about the ‘let’s forget all that happened before’ attitude.”

There was a snort from near the window, and they all turned to look at Thorin. Bilbo was pleased to see he had eaten most of the bread roll he’d brought.

“What are your hopes, then?” Thorin asked.

“Peace, a permanent peace.” Bilbo took a deep breath. “I’m thinking of joining the university peace group.” He paused, then added, “You probably all think that’s very idealistic.”

“Maybe,” Balin said. “But better to try and fail, than not to try at all.”

Thorin dragged his chair over to the fire. “We were all idealistic once,” he said. “And look where it got us.”

“Thorin,” Dwalin said warningly.

Thorin ignored him. “My brother died at Verdun, my brother-in-law at Passchendaele, leaving two small sons. My father refuses to accept it and insisted places were laid for them at Christmas dinner, saying they’d be along as soon as they could. It was awful.”

“Oh no!” Bilbo said. “Those poor little boys.”

“My mother tried to pass it off as the places being there in their memory, which half worked. But she hadn’t realised my father had placed presents under the tree for them. My sister collapsed and my mother had to take care of her, leaving me with the boys. I had to stay strong for them.”

Thorin began to shake, and Dwalin stood as if to usher Bilbo out of the room. But Bilbo put a hand on Thorin’s arm and said, “And I’m sure you did. And now it’s time for others to be strong for you. I shall be honoured if you will count me amongst that number.”

Thorin took a couple of deep breaths. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “And I wish you every success with the peace group. I hope they achieve what they set out to do.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo replied. “I should be off now. But one last question. Where were you injured?”

“Cambrai. How did you know?”

“Your limp.”

“Of course!”

“I have lectures in the morning, but would you be up to going for a short walk in the afternoon?”

“I’d like that. And you can tell me more about, what do they call it, the League of Nations.”

Bilbo nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good night, everybody!”

Dwalin and Balin both said, “Good night.”

Thorin didn’t reply, but his smile was sufficient that Bilbo felt impervious to the rain as he walked back to his own rooms.


End file.
